


Cuddles and Stuff

by FUBrucewww, renewyorkairs



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce thinks Slade is sus, Cuddles, Cuddles & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, POV Jason Todd, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Slash, Slade Wilson is Deathstroke, Wholesome, fluff is vital to survival, implied PTSD, no-slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FUBrucewww/pseuds/FUBrucewww, https://archiveofourown.org/users/renewyorkairs/pseuds/renewyorkairs
Summary: Jason wants a cuddle buddy so he hires the first person he thinks of.Deathstroke likes money, right?
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson
Comments: 93
Kudos: 512





	1. Good Enough For Me

**Author's Note:**

> The original title was "Cuddles and Shit," but I didn't want to put a curse in the title. 
> 
> Before you begin, Slade and Jason's relationship is purely platonic.   
> I have yet to plan this fic out, but it’s just cuddling and fluff with some plot. 
> 
> Credits to renewyorkairs for being editor and alpha reader. Jesus, you’re a damn godsend! <3<3<3 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 1/17/21: CH 1 edited by renewyorkairs

No one knew that Jason still had nightmares.

He hated feeling cold, dragged back to his grave under the earth, forgotten and shivering– _alive_.

He hated feeling helpless. Unable to stop Joker, even in dreams, from torturing him through the night, his voice hoarse and ragged upon waking.

He hated feeling abandoned, pretending the hurt was fine until he was somewhere safer. Jason was trained to be a shadow; he didn’t know how to ask for help. 

It was as simple as recognizing you have a craving, but Jason didn’t know what he wanted so badly. Maybe it was dissatisfaction. _Or maybe he just wanted pizza._ But when the craving hit, he felt a physical ache.

For the warmth of being remembered.

The weight of feeling protected.

And the steady sound of a heartbeat from a warm embrace.

Jason was devastated to learn how much he _loved_ a good cuddle.

*******

As a child, Jason sometimes slept close to his mom. She didn’t hold him but being near was enough, he thought.

At the manor, Bruce would sit next to his bed when he had a bad dream. He’d cradle Jason’s face in his hands if he woke up crying. To soothe him, Bruce would read him a classic book while petting his hair. It was far from cuddling, but Jason would never let this go. Because most of his memories of Bruce were blurred by bruises and rage.

It happened once when Jason was Robin. Dick was visiting the manor when Jason caught the flu. He was feverish and weak, but Dick insisted on smothering him. Jason was annoyed. He was already in bed and not in the mood to wrestle because he was too tired. His older brother asked, “Is this okay?” And pulled him into a hug. Jason fought back initially then nodded, feeling less cold. With Dick’s arms wrapped around him, the chills were less violent. Jason began to cry because he didn’t know what a cuddle was until now. He didn’t know he needed this.

Jason still remembers the warmth, the weight, and the sound of Dick murmuring. 

_You’re safe now,_ _Little Wing_. 

*******

“All you have to do is ask,” said Dick. But it was a dying thought, a forgotten memory, and Jason, trapped inside that building, realized he would never get another chance. 

*******

Identifying the craving wasn’t too difficult. Knowing how to achieve it was easier said than done.

A cuddle required two people. Jason’s job was to find the second. Dick surrounded himself with others; he was never available. Bruce and Jason rarely spoke; Bruce was constantly blaming him. Tim, addicted to coffee, never slept; he was always _too_ busy. Steph had school; she needed more sleep. Damian was a child; it wasn’t Jason’s job to teach him how to cuddle. Cass was not known for affection, and Jason couldn’t face one more rejection. He hated the idea of being weak in front of them. Beneath his hard shell, Jason was more than just a ball of fire to be left, to extinguish, alone.

With the bats already off the table, he considered his old teammates. Kori, however, was always off-planet. Roy needed space to solve his own issues, but Jason missed him more than he would ever dare to admit.

Jason could hire someone….

Deathstroke likes money, right? 

Deathstroke’s code demanded him to be discreet, and unlike Dick, Slade had no real connection to him. Jason didn’t want to deal with awkward interactions, knowing he’d have to see Dick whenever the "family" got together. Meeting Slade on the field was rare and could easily be avoided. That alone made the mercenary a better choice. Because Jason could keep his personal life a secret. 

_Why the fuck not?_

Shaken by the sudden epiphany, Jason threw off the blankets that covered him and scrambled out of bed. He snatched one of his multiple burner phones and rushed to the kitchen where his laptop was charging.

Jason pulled up Slade Wilson’s file where family history folders and contingency plans were stored, but he only wanted a certain bit of information. Jason paused when he spotted what he was looking for–Deathstroke’s work number. 

While the Red Hood database wasn’t as up-to-date as the Bat’s, and he wasn’t sure if it would work, there was _probably_ no harm in trying. He typed the digits into his burner phone and hit “call".

It rang five times before Jason heard a soft _click_.

“Deathstroke speaking.” There was a deep growl beneath the words.

He couldn’t quite believe it–the number actually worked–Jason had Deathstroke on the line.

Jason thought it best to reveal his identity sooner than later, but at the same time, he wasn’t thinking much at all, except that he wouldn’t have to be cold anymore. “It’s Red Hood. You still for hire?”

A mocking chuckle followed. “Red Hood can’t clean up his own messes anymore?”

“I ain’t got any messes,” Jason snarled but turned back to his original goal. “I have an unusual job for you.”

Slade didn’t respond for a moment. “How much are you offering?”

_That was actually a good question._

Obviously, cuddling was not the type of specialized skill you’d search out when hiring an assassin. Jason didn’t really care how much it would cost–he just wanted to be warm again. “I’ll let you name the price.” 

“What’s the job?” asked Slade, sounding suspicious. 

And Jason _froze_. You can’t exactly name your price when you don’t know what the job entails. He felt uncomfortable explaining this over the phone because the bats were always listening, and their tech was exceptional. The next best thing would be to meet in person. Bugs were easy to jam. Even the Bat brand could be avoided. Besides, a few bats couldn’t possibly bug every square inch of a large city.

“You there?”

“Not over the phone. Bats. Find me.” It was safer than Jason texting a meet-up location. At the same time, waiting was a risk because Slade knew how to prioritize. He could easily drop Jason’s offer and accept another job that took _less effort_. 

Slade’s annoyed growl was the last thing Jason heard before the mercenary abruptly hung up.

Jason frowned, staring at the home screen of his burner phone. Slade never confirmed if he was going to find him.

Jason returned to his bed, curled under the covers, feeling cold as ever. As much as he didn’t want to stay up and wait, the excitement hadn’t died down, and he ended up staring at shadows on the ceiling. 

It’s not like his issues would magically solve themselves if he did have a "cuddle buddy". Yeah, Jason would feel warmer and safer, perhaps, but cuddling couldn’t prevent nightmares. If it were that easy, Jason would have hired one years ago. 

*** 

“–Get up, boy.” 

Jason shot up, subconsciously grabbing his gun from under the pillow. He aimed before he actually opened his eyes. After he aimed, he looked up.

There stood Deathstroke, in full gear, equipped with his swords and a sniper rifle. The only thing missing was his mask. He stood over Jason’s bed, looking very unimpressed. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” said Slade.

Given the fact that Deathstroke was inside Jason’s bedroom, one might safely assume that the mercenary was interested in the pay. However, Jason wasn’t in the clear just yet. Slade would still have to accept _the job_. 

Surely, Deathstroke has never been asked to cuddle before.

Jason lowered his gun so that it wasn’t pointing at Slade. Being woken up mid-sleep was a shitty feeling; he could barely think straight. _Ugh._

Because Jason was not thinking straight, he lowered his guard. And that’s not supposed to happen when a fully-armed metahuman assassin is _in_ your apartment. Or safe house in Jason’s case. Well, hey, Jason wasn’t known to be the smartest bat. 

What Jason did have was common sense. Logically, Slade wouldn’t hurt a potential employer who was letting him name the price. Not only that, Slade never killed unless he was hired to do so. Unless he took a job to take out Red Hood, then Jason was probably safe.

If Bruce could see this unfold, there would be a fucking long lecture. But Bruce wasn’t here right now, so it really didn’t matter.

“Give me a second.” Jason blinked a few times and got out of bed as steady as he could. He could do this. 

“Fine.” 

Jason stuffed his gun in the waistband of his pajama pants and flipped on a few lights. He motioned for Slade to follow him into the kitchen. As Slade stood and watched, Jason filled his steel kettle with cold water. He could tell Slade was watching him closely, maybe even glaring, if Jason were being honest. He turned the gas stove on high and placed the kettle on top, still not uttering a word to the assassin.

Jason was already making tea for himself, but being the courteous man that he is, he offered some to Slade. “You want any tea or coffee?” 

Slade narrowed his eye. “No… thanks.” 

“M’kay,” Jason hummed, pulling out a single teacup from an overhead cabinet. Into the cup, he dropped a bag of cheap jasmine tea and made a face. In Jason’s defense, this safe house was the one he used the least. He never bothered to stock it with his favorite, more expensive teas.

Sensing the water was just above a simmer with Slade looking more irritated than before, Jason left his teacup next to the stove. 

Jason moved to the walnut dining table nearby and sat down. Seeming to understand the unspoken request, Slade sat down at the table in the chair directly across from Jason. 

“You got a bug jammer?” Jason asked. He obviously had his own, and those he owned were always on, but Slade, being rich and experienced, probably had way better tech than Jason. 

_Better safe than sorry._

“Always. Now, what’s the job?” Slade demanded in a voice reminding Jason there was no tolerance for small talk.

Jason didn’t know how to explain _the job_ without dying of embarrassment. He blurted out the first sentence that came to mind. “I want you to sleep with me.”

Just then, the kettle whistled, and Jason ran back to the stove. Only a vigilante would notice the way Slade jolted, thinking Jason was implying something other than actual sleep. 

“Wait!–Fuck–whatever you’re thinking, that’s not what I meant–” Jason tried to explain, as a burning heat rushed to his face. He hoped to say something less embarrassing than "I want a cuddle buddy" but ended up saying something much worse and ten times more humiliating.

“Kid–” Slade began, leaving his mouth open.

But before Slade could say anything, Jason interrupted and made another attempt. “Just–let me explain. When I sleep, I get cold, I–I don’t like being cold–uh–makes me feel exposed, unprotected.”

“So, what does this have to do with me?”

“I’m sort of… shit–uh–lonely?” Jason winced at the word "lonely". Despite feeling like he was about to explode in shame, he continued onward. “And I… like to cuddle?”

“Kid–you–” Slade sighed after failing to form a thought. “Just to clarify, you want to hire me to be your bodyguard… while you sleep and I… hold you?”

“Yeah.” The way Slade explained it sounded more professional than Jason’s offer.

Jason watched the lines on Slade’s forehead deepen as he ran his fingers through his hair, stressed. Slade was hunched over the table and seemed to be contemplating whether or not he should accept. He then leaned back in his chair and exhaled. 

“Alright, kid. I’ll take the job.”

“Really?” exclaimed Jason, who _did not_ perk up like a goddamn puppy. “How much do you want?” He didn’t care how much it was going to cost him–he had money–and the promise of good sleep overrode any and all financial worries. Hell, even if Slade asked for half-a-mill, Jason would still agree. 

Slade laid out his pricing. “My normal bodyguard fee is $60,000. That would give you a total of twelve hours. Concerning the unusual add-on, I’ll take $65,000.” 

Deathstroke was the deadliest mercenary, and Jason was shocked that Slade’s pricing wasn’t in the six-digit range. Jason almost choked on his own laugh. “I let you name the price, and that’s all you’re charging me?”

“It’s an average price. I’m not here to gouge you,” Slade countered.

“Expected something different from Mr. Money-Centered-Mercenary. Thanks, I guess.” 

“Kid, do we have a deal?” 

“Yeah–yeah, you have a deal.” 

“Good. Here’s where to wire the money.” Slade slid a piece of paper, the size of a business card, across the table. The paper had handwritten information covering one side; the other side was blank. “What nights will I work?”

Jason didn’t have a specific plan. These days, he didn’t patrol at regular intervals, and he didn’t know Slade’s schedule. Jason wasn’t feeling as sharp as he’d like since he’d been startled awake in the middle of the night.

“I… don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” Jason rubbed his face and shivered involuntarily. Slade seemed free now. Jason was cold; he didn’t layer up since the mercenary entered through his bedroom window. “But if you’re free, you can start tonight.” 

“You’re the employer,” the mercenary said, leaving the choice to Jason.

“Okay then, maybe you could start by telling me how you got in.”

*** 

Slade mapped out Jason’s security system and even highlighted its weak points while Jason sipped the cup of tea he just brewed. If Jason could improve his security system, maybe he could keep out the bats. _Maybe_ being the operative word.

However, he was reluctant to fix the issues Slade mentioned. The bats, most of the time, didn’t pose a threat, so there was no point in wasting precious time trying to keep them out. The majority of people who might target Jason were no match. Plus, Jason relied way more on taking out a threat before an outdated system could let him know the threat was inside. Nevertheless, Slade’s advice was good to keep in mind. 

After Jason finished his tea and Slade was done roasting his shitty security system, Jason wired the money to Slade’s account. Now, it was Jason’s turn to explain the strengths and weaknesses... of his bedroom? _Shit._

“Follow me,” he grumbled, leading Slade back to the bedroom. He motioned to a door on the right. “Bathroom’s there if you need it.”

Slade nodded, then asked, “Would you prefer if I took off my suit?”

“Yeah, that would probably be best,” Jason admitted. Slade’s Ikon suit was harder than a rock and wouldn’t be fun to sleep against. Though, if Slade was supposed to be his bodyguard, he probably shouldn't be taking off his armor, but then again, it’s not like there were many people who could defeat Deathstroke, armored or not. If Jason had wanted to cuddle with Superman-proofed armor, he would’ve just bought a life-sized rock. It would, he imagined, feel awfully similar. 

Slade stripped off his Ikon suit and was left in a black t-shirt and a pair of tactical pants. He pushed both his armor and weapons to the corner of the room and moved towards Jason. “Where do you want me?” 

“Just lay down on your side. I'll snuggle myself in.”

Slade did as he was instructed, positioning himself under the covers as the bed creaked beneath his weight. Jason turned off the lights before heading into the bed. He sighed, crawling under the shared blankets and basically slithered into Slade’s unoccupied arms. Jason then wiggled closer so that his face was nuzzled against the older man’s shoulder and was comforted by the soft smell of pine that clung to Slade’s rough skin. 

Jason felt arms loosely drape over his waist, and in response, Jason, with one arm curled into his side, wrapped his other arm around Slade’s midsection, tightly grasping the back of the mercenary’s shirt. Slade’s body tensed for a moment, but he reciprocated by securing his grip around Jason’s waist and resting his chin against Jason’s hair. 

“Hm, fluffy,” noted Slade, as Jason felt a gust of gentle breaths, like a murmur, through loose and messy curls.

Jason finally felt warm. He felt safer. And the sound of Slade's heart beating was relaxing enough to make him...

–The only thing keeping Jason awake was knowing Slade was still awake. “You can go to sleep y'know,” Jason mumbled, his words slightly muffled, into Slade’s shoulder.

“You paid me to protect you.”

But Jason did feel protected. To be fair, Jason’s original intention was cuddles for hire, not a bodyguard. How many people could beat Red Hood and Deathstroke when they’re in the same ~~bed~~ room? Almost none. “I don’t care, Slade. You can sleep.” 

“You sure, kid?” Slade asked.

“Mhmm,” Jason breathed, drifting off into a peaceful slumber, hoping Slade would follow. 

*******

Jason woke up to loud shouts directly in his ear and rays of sun beaming on his face. Of course, he first took notice of the shouts, as they were more disturbing than the light, and the light only became a problem when he tried to open his eyes.

“–Jesus Christ, brat! Wake up!”

Typically, Jason would snap awake and go for his gun if he heard foreign sounds in his safe house. Remembering what occurred last night, he chose not to retaliate. Jason woke up so well-rested that if a gun was pointed at his head, he wouldn’t even move a limb. 

Jason was in such a good mood he didn’t even try to slap Slade for waking him up. Instead, he just grumbled, “Fuck offff… Five more minutes...”

“Let go of me, and I can ‘fuck off',” Slade growled, sounding more threatening when he was up close and very personal. 

But Jason did not comply; he did the opposite and strengthened his grip around Slade’s mid-section, squishing his face further into the mercenary’s collar. “Fuck no. I’m the one paying you, old man.” Jason didn’t actually know how much time had passed, but he was willing to pay Slade overtime. 

“It’s 11 am, I need to take a piss, and your time expires in two hours,” Slade said, as plainly as stating a report. 

Having regained more of his consciousness, Jason replied in a clearer voice. “Yeah, well, two hours is still two hours. You can use the bathroom, but you’d better come back and be a good teddy bear.”

“Sure, kid. Let go.”

This time, Jason obeyed and loosened his grip, letting Slade retreat to the bathroom. Immediately after Slade left, the warmth made its exit, not all, but most. Jason was now more awake than before and couldn’t go back to sleep. 

Like Slade said, it was 11 am. So, Jason decided to make breakfast.

Being kind, Jason pulled out enough food for two and started up the coffee maker. He settled on cooking a classic American breakfast since he didn’t know what Slade liked. Bacon, eggs, and toast with lots of butter.

As Jason pulled the eggs and bacon out of the fridge, he heard Slade exiting the bathroom. “Where’d you run off to, brat?” Jason listened to a pair of footsteps approaching the kitchen. “You said you wanted to sleep longer,” noted Slade in an accusing tone. He leaned against the countertop, back in his Ikon suit, where Jason was prepping the ingredients. 

“Yeah, I _did_. Changed my mind,” he said, turning on the gas stove and placing a non-stick pan on top. Jason turned his head to the side with a look that said, “Breakfast?” It wasn’t much of a question as Jason was already cooking, but if Slade did decline, Jason wouldn’t mind eating all the food by himself.

“Sure. You cook?” The mercenary left Jason by the stove to sit down at the dining table in the same chair he chose last night.

“My _grandfather_ taught me,” Jason answered, trying to make small talk even though he hated small talk. But that was what normal people did, and Jason wanted to be somewhat normal. 

As soon as the coffee maker beeped, Jason removed the pot and poured its contents into a mug, filling it just below the brim. He didn’t add any sugar or cream; Jason assumed that Slade also liked his coffee black. 

Jason walked over to the dining table and pushed the hot cup towards Slade.

“Thanks.” The mercenary accepted, grabbing the mug by the bottom instead of by its handle.

Jason served up two plates of food on the table, one in front of Slade and the other in front of himself. Both plates had three sunny-side-up eggs, several strips of bacon, and a couple slices of golden toast.

“It’s good,” Slade hummed with his eyebrows raised.

“Why do you sound so shocked? It’s eggs and bacon.”

“I haven’t eaten home-cooked food in a while.”

Jason didn’t pry, leaving the conversation behind, and chose to enjoy his company. After breakfast, Slade offered to do the dishes, which caught him off guard. Jason smirked more obviously than he’d intended while shaking his head. It was only a few dishes. Imagining Deathstroke doing house chores was super fucking weird. 

***

“When’s my next job?” The mercenary asked, standing next to a freshly opened window, ready to leave.

“Don’t care. Just–I dunno–come over any night you’re free.” Jason assumed being the world’s most infamous mercenary meant that Slade was unavailable most nights.

Slade gave a curt nod. “Should I notify you beforehand?”

“Nah.” Jason jogged over to the kitchen and pulled out a spare key from one of the drawers. “Here, just let yourself in. Try using the door next time.” He presented the silver key in front of the mercenary. 

“Kid, you sure you want to trust me with this?” Slade paused before he accepted the key.

“No,” he admitted. “If shit happens, then shit happens. This is just another crash pad I’m staying in for the time being.”

Okay, so maybe giving Slade a free pass into his safe house might seem dangerous, but Slade already proved how easily he could break-in. Jason knew there was no point in trying to protect himself at this stage in the game. Plus, it would be good for Slade to enter homes like a civilized person–through the fucking door. _This applied to the Bats, too._

“Alright, kid, I’ll be off then.” 

“‘ight,” Jason mimicked, shutting the window closed after Slade left. 


	2. Jason's Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits x1000 to renewyorkairs for being alpha reader and editor–I love them!

Fuck. Jason felt good. No doubt, well-rested, he woke up without a hint of a headache. Previously, he’d been sleeping five hours tops, leaving him feeling nothing short of shitty in the morning. Last night, he slept for a whopping nine hours! Must be the lasting effects of his overpaid cuddle buddy. Good was an understatement. Jason had been _reborn_.

Actually, it was more like being recharged. For once, nothing ached. He wasn’t stiff. He didn’t hurt. He didn’t wake up feeling completely spent. Even the circles, looking a hell of a lot like bruising under Jason’s eyes, had pretty much ghosted on his face. For all the rules and drills that Bruce had beaten into Jason, why hadn’t he emphasized the power of a normal night of rest? Jesus, proper sleep was something else, something Jason couldn’t quite describe because he didn’t have a reference for it. 

Jason, still relishing, decided to skip work. In other words, Red Hood could peace the fuck out, which liberated him from training and research. It gave Jason the entire day to do what needed to be done, which was everything else he hated. Most likely, he wouldn’t finish all the chores on the stupid piece of paper where he scribbled a piss poor excuse of a to-do list, but it was worth a shot. After all, Jason’s safe house was in dire need of a "glow up".

*******

Wiping sweat from his brow, he had finished cleaning every inch of his safe house until it sparkled. _I wonder what Alfred would say if he were here right now._ Jason hoped he’d be proud. 

To tell you the truth, the next step wasn’t even a chore. It was a ritual. And just in case somebody decided to snoop while he was sleeping, Jason would not be shamed by the state of his weapons. No. Every single piece that resided in his safe house would shine like it was brand fucking new. 

Jason practically ran to the walk-in closet that humbly displayed his weapons collection instead of clothing. He pulled out each item as if he were that giddy little kid who sat cross-legged on the floor, arranging his new books from the library. Jason closed his eyes for a brief moment, acknowledging the strong and slightly sweet scent of his favorite gun oil as he removed the cap. Carefully, he set each gun and every blade on his kitchen table as if all of them were irreplaceable, which some of them were.

In a staggering array laid bare before him, Jason, with his palms resting on the kitchen table, was surprised to see several weapons he thought he’d lost. During that global weapons tradeshow, Jason chose a fucking gorgeous polearm he swears on his grave Roy stole as it up and left him, too. Well, turns out Roy didn’t nab it since it was staring straight back at Jason. He knew he shouldn’t get attached to items in a safe house, but books weren’t the only things that told a story.

Jason felt his body relax as he wrapped his hands around his two favorite pistols, which he could disassemble blindfolded. With a strip of cloth, he wiped down the first and scrubbed the barrel, chamber, and sliders using a small copper brush. Jason had done this so many times, the motions were set to autopilot in his brain. He could clean his guns in five minutes or less–not that he had timed himself.

Using a cotton swab laced in gun oil, he lubricated the slide rails and recoil springs. Once re-assembled, he tested the slide action a few times before completing a dry fire check. Jason knew he was finished when he heard a soft _click_. Feeling the familiar weight as he twirled the gun between his fingers, he grinned before placing it down and reaching for its mate.

*******

Jason decided he deserved a break. He made himself an extra hot cup of tea and grabbed his hardback copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ from the bedside table. 

The best feature of the safe house was the fireplace located in the living room. Of course, being in an apartment complex, it wasn’t a real fireplace. It was gas-powered, not wood-burning, but it didn’t matter. The warmth and light of an artificial-looking flame still reminded Jason of other Gotham winters, of darker months that should have been gloomy but weren’t.

Sprawled out on the sofa, Jason felt the soft heat from the fire he’d just turned on like any other light. Holding Austen in his right hand with his tea held against his chest, Jason let himself sink into the moment, feeling very comfortable, to say the least.

Jason read for just over an hour, and while it was a longer break than he’d intended to take with a book he’d read dozens of times, certain things just never got old.

While Jason had planned to organize some of the more chaotic areas, he’d only managed to put down his book. Within an hour, his cleaning motivation had disappeared completely, so he opted for a staring contest with the fire, and fell asleep.

*******

When Jason woke up, it was already dark. A real shocker since winter days were already the shortest. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock mounted on the wall above the fireplace. More surprising? He had just slept for two hours. And nothing terrible happened.

Then, Jason’s stomach growled, and it sounded kind of threatening. Twisting his body, he stretched his back until he felt two satisfying _pops_ and headed to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, which did contain food, albeit very little, but he was still feeling the after-effects of his afternoon nap. Instead, Jason opted for Chinese take-out and delivery with the added bonus of no clean-up. 

Jason ordered enough food for a family of four, or more. He unfolded each container and devoured most of the dishes he ordered. Nothing hit the spot like a good dry beef chow fun. And the family who owned the restaurant always gave him extra. Feeling satisfied, he stashed the remaining white boxes in the fridge. 

Since Crime Alley wasn’t going to patrol itself, Jason’s day off was coming to an end. To be honest, he was a little disappointed he didn’t manage to grab groceries. What if Slade came over later? Would he serve leftovers for breakfast? He sighed. No use dwelling on this now. Slade had already visited the past couple nights, so he probably wouldn’t visit again. Which meant Jason still had time to restock.

Jason yawned as he pulled on his armor, piece by piece, and buckled his thigh holsters into place. He didn’t bother with shin guards tonight; he didn’t need them to patrol. If Bruce were watching him, Jason knew what he’d say in that overbearing Batman voice. _Jason, that’s reckless. Jason, you’re too careless._ But it’s hard to accept criticism from a grown-ass man whose butler has to remind him to go the fuck to sleep. Heh.

Before long, Jason was geared up with his hood locked and guns loaded. He made his exit through the bedroom window that opened onto a fire escape.

*******

Patrol was kind of boring, but Jason wasn’t complaining. If he had to guess, most everyone knew the consequences of meeting Red Hood in Crime Alley. Those who didn’t would always learn. Jason snorted softly.

Acts of stealing were similar to armed robbery–whoever he caught mid-theft didn’t offer up much of a fight. The main difference was who and why, as most of whom he intercepted were just neighborhood kids trying to find their next meal. Jason understood the feeling–he still needed groceries after all–and each time, it left a tight feeling in his chest. It was never easy and always complicated because one act of kindness wasn’t going to solve the problem. And a lot of these small businesses were family-owned. 

This time he discovered a kid named Owen, who gained entrance to the deli by prying open an old window in the back. The starving kid was holding a bag of day-old sourdough bread. Jason removed his Red Hood helmet in favor of a domino mask and bent one knee to even out their difference in height. He always trusted kids to choose what they needed. Jason left cash plus a tip in the till with a small handwritten note from Red Hood. 

As for the full-grown idiots that Jason discovered breaking into homes with loaded weapons, let’s just say that Red Hood intentionally scared the shit out of them. Moving on…

Red Hood helped a few women walk home before checking up on the working girls. Honestly, they had some of the best intel in the area. He beat the shit out of an abusive john, and not a single woman intervened. One of them, he thinks, even giggled. That may have been the highlight of Jason’s day. 

Jason stood on a rooftop gazing down at the darker street corners in search of a fight. But Crime Alley was oddly quiet. Time for a break. He removed his helmet. Pulling a smoke from his pack, he drew a flame on his lighter and took a deep drag. 

A peaceful night in Crime Alley made absolutely no sense. It was just too good to be true. _And if it’s too good to be true, it's probably not true._ Something was going to happen, and it was going to be shitty.

“Hood.” 

The one person who could fuck up Jason’s entire day was standing behind him, wasn’t he? _Great._ “There you are,” said Jason as he turned around. And there he was. Batman, always standing taller, cape slightly fluttering in the wind. “What are you doing here?” Jason blurted out because he wanted to strike first. Crime Alley was Red Hood’s turf. 

Instead of replying–like a normal person–Bruce kept giving him these looks, looks with gaps that Jason was forced to fill in for whatever was hiding behind the cowl. But not today. Jason was somewhere between irked and vexed now that his once peaceful day just died. Why should he even bother figuring this shit out? Ugh.

“We need to talk. Now.” 

“Something bad happen?” Jason asked, rolling his eyes behind his mask. He would have known if that were the case. Jason clutched his helmet closer to his side. 

“No–” Bruce started, moving toward Jason.

If Bruce didn’t arrive bearing bad news, then his mission was probably to harass Jason for breaking some umpteenth rule. At the end of the day, Jason prided himself on being pragmatic, which usually led him down a pessimistic path. Still, a small part of him hoped Bruce was just there ~~to make sure he was okay~~ to check up on him. 

But Bruce didn’t schedule normal visits, you know, the kind with a conversation involving _two_ people. No. _Batman_ had plans of his own. Demands, usually. Jason was not in the mood and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“What did I do this time?” Jason interrupted, exhaling with a long sigh. “Miss a call? Not help grandma cross the road? Pissed you off three years ago?” With the kind of sarcasm he’d been honing for years, he spat out all of his guesses at once. It made Jason feel worse, knowing those exaggerated assumptions could actually be why the Bat was here in the first place. 

Finally, Bruce fessed, “You’ve been in contact with Deathstroke. You offered him a job.” He was staring at Jason with his lenses up, and if Jason’s hadn’t been up, the white glare would have blinded him in the dark. 

Jason scoffed, feeling something like irate. He expected the bats would be listening in on his phone conversations. But he still held onto a shred of hope that they wouldn’t actually confront him, especially concerning this. “Ah, so you’ve heard,” Jason started, crossing his arms defensively. “Well, it’s none of your damn business, old man.” 

“On the contrary, Hood. My city, my business.”

Jason laughed, and it was nothing short of snide. Cuddling with Slade was _not_ Batman’s business, under any circumstance, and Bruce calling Gotham "my city" was just plain childish. “I can assure you it has nothing to do with _your_ city. You’re gonna need a bigger mansion to house that ego of yours. Geez.” Jason was actually telling the truth, but the man behind the mask remained unconvinced. 

“What was the job?” Bruce demanded, closing in on Jason’s space.

Jason wanted to step back but forced himself to stand his ground. “It’s personal,” he replied with arms still crossed and his helmet resting on his hip. 

He wasn’t lying. The job Jason hired Deathstroke to do was definitely personal, but Bruce was assuming that Jason hired the mercenary as Red Hood for Red Hood jobs. Jason had no intention of telling his sometimes father figure that Deathstroke _the Terminator_ was nothing but his night time cuddle buddy.

“Hood,” said Batman, drawing out each vowel. “Who did he kill?”

“Kill?” Jason scoffed at how little Bruce trusted him right now. “So that’s what you think of me.” And it wasn’t even a question. Jason let out a disheartened sigh. “You think I’d hire Deathstroke to do my dirty work?”

The white eyes of Batman’s cowl seemingly narrowed before him. “You have a history of crossing lines.”

“Fuck your lines!” Jason snapped, wishing his hood were on his head instead of in his hands. If only to conceal whatever emotion was projecting on his face like a goddamn neon sign. “Do you question Nightwing every time he interacts with Deathstroke?”

“This isn’t about Nightwing. This is about whether you broke the rules again.”

“I haven’t broken any rules,” Jason yelled. “I haven’t killed anybody. And I definitely did not hire Deathstroke to kill someone for me. Why did I even bother to think you might trust my word for once?” Jason sneered, jabbing an index finger into Bruce’s chest inlay. “Fuck you, B.”

Immediately, Jason pivoted on his heel, tugged his helmet on, and left. He wasn’t going to allow Bruce to utter even one more word. Sprinting in the opposite direction, Jason crossed his fingers he wouldn’t receive a Batarang to the back. Seriously, why would Jason ever pay anyone to steal his own pleasure of crossing off Red Hood’s hit list? 

*******

When Jason slid into his safe house, this time through the living room window, he found Slade sitting at his kitchen table drinking coffee from one of Jason's cheap, white mugs. The mercenary looked awfully relaxed, already out of his armor and into a pair of soft, gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

Jason, though surprised, only let out a soft chuff. Dropping his head down, he unclasped his hood in a smooth motion. With his back turned, he placed the helmet on the table opposite where Slade was sitting and smiled to himself. Jason ran his fingers through a few disheveled curls and looked back at the mercenary. “Why are you here? Outta coffee at your own place?”

Slade gave Jason an odd look with one brow raised. “You said I could let myself in.”

Jason did practically say that Slade could come and go whenever. But Jason was also kind of shocked because this visit would mark the fourth time in a week. On top of that, Jason knew Slade worked nights.

“Yeah,” said Jason, “but don’t you have other jobs?” The best mercenary on the market ought to be booked solid. Why wasn’t Slade working? Jason changed his posture so that he was leaning against the kitchen counter with his elbows behind him. “You want me to clear out a drawer for you, old man?” 

The old man tipped his mug back for one last sip, as the bottom of the cup pointed to the ceiling. He set the mug onto the table with a soft _clink_. “Kid, this is my job right now,” said Slade, nice and slow. “Remember, you _are_ paying me.” 

Jason hadn’t forgotten. Because Slade was murdering his bank account. “I said to only come here on nights when you don’t have other jobs.”

“Kid,” said Slade with the ordinary tone of an angry old person, “it’s already been settled. I don’t have _other_ jobs tonight.” Slade glanced at the clock, then looked back at Jason, “Your twelve hours start now.” Jason strode to his bedroom as Slade stood up to follow him.

Jason glowered for a moment. “I have to shower,” he said, staring at several blood splatters decorating his body armor. Jason glanced back at Slade, who looked like he was ready for bed. 

“Want to shower?” asked Jason. “First!” he added, feeling a rush of heat in his face because that wasn’t an invitation. Jason waved an outstretched palm towards the bathroom because he didn’t want to be rude. Also, because he had just laundered his sheets.

“Thanks for the offer, kid, but I already did,” Slade replied.

Jason frowned. “As in you already used my shower or…”

“Yes.” 

“You wanna leave your toothbrush here, too?” Jason teased out in a voice much quieter than he’d intended.

Jason wasn’t blind. He saw the way Slade was warming up to the job, observing the way Slade made himself at home. Arguably, the infamous mercenary was better acquainted with Jason’s safe house than he was. _How?_ Like, how come Slade knew where all the safety pins were, and Jason didn’t? 

Jason headed off to shower, looking forward to scalding hot water and cedar-scented soap... alone. 

*******

As Jason walked into his bedroom in a pair of black sweats, Slade was almost hidden beneath a pile of blankets. His eyes widened at the mercenary who was lying on his back with Jason’s copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ shielding his face. Slade did not strike Jason as the type of guy who enjoyed classics or even just books in general. 

“Careful,” said Jason, eyeing the mercenary’s grip on the well-worn pages. The last thing he needed was some metahuman accidentally ripping his favorite book in two. Slade nodded with a smile, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was being teased.

Jason ruffled his hair with a towel before tossing it, with one arm extended, into the hamper beside the bathroom door. _Swish._ He pulled back the blankets and crawled under them in one swift move, and released a deep breath. It eased some of the inner tension. He took a moment to appreciate his fresh, clean sheets. There would be no more Bruce accusations tonight. All he had to do was fall asleep. Jason felt different, and it bordered on relief, similar to how an injury stops hurting for the first time.

After laying in bed like a lone fork and imagining what kind of knife Slade would be in this dumb scenario, Jason pulled himself toward Slade’s body and curled up against the old man’s left side. Jason placed the side of his head on Slade’s broad chest, instantly pleased with the warmth and surprising softness against his skin. Feeling bolder, he launched one arm across the mercenary’s waist and tightened his grip, as he listened to Slade breathing steadily through his nose.

Jason would say he was warming up to the idea of being cozy with Slade. _Maybe._ The first few cuddle sessions were obviously not stress-free; Slade was still the deadliest assassin. It had often crossed Jason’s mind that Deathstroke could accept two jobs in one night, which could end with Jason being murdered inside his own safe house. That would be really fucking embarrassing. As long as both bodies were not discovered mid-cuddle, it wouldn’t be the worst-case scenario. 

Just to clarify, no matter how much comfort Slade could offer, he was still an asshole in Jason’s eyes. 

And just like that, Slade spoke up without taking his eye off the page, “Your taste in books is crap.”

No surprise there. Jason understood why people didn’t like _Pride and Prejudice_. At first glance, it seemed like a boring, sappy, old, protracted, British novel about marriage, but Jason loved the satire, the jokes, and every character's portrayal. However, instead of arguing, Jason simply scoffed, “And what are you doing? Not reading my ‘crap’ book?”

“Not anymore.” Slade shut the book and gently set it on the bedside table. “That being said, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

Was that even a compliment? Jason watched as the big old mercenary leaned over, displacing him a little, and flipped off the bedside lamp. When Slade returned to his former position, Jason quickly readjusted his own weight, not unlike a cat pulling itself back with its limbs before curling up again in a warm space. The mercenary extended his left arm, so it was under Jason’s pillow, but Jason could still feel the sense of a hand cradling his neck. Then, his other arm snaked around Jason’s back, hooking a hand on his waist. Jason wanted to laugh but held it in.

“Slade?” whispered Jason.

“What, kid? I’m trying to sleep.” Jason shifted his body again, so he was curled up against Slade’s side.

“Your tits are real fuckin’ soft. They make nice pillows.”

Slade flicked Jason’s forehead with his free hand. 

“Fuck!” Jason jerked back an inch. “It was a compliment.”

“At least I’m wearing a goddamn shirt,” said Slade with a warm chuckle, giving Jason’s waist a quick squeeze. “I can feel you blushing, kid. Just shut up and go to sleep.” 

Feeling a wave of heat rising in his face, Jason concentrated on Slade’s voice rumbling through his chest. His arm, buried beneath Slade’s giant frame, would likely be dead by morning. They would have to talk about how Jason could be crushed in ways that Slade could not. But not tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
